When it Rains in Omega
by Salmon Center
Summary: Emelia Shepard, A.K.A. Em, Millie, Mils. Sixteen years old. Omega orphan. Single. Occupation: Courier. Likes: Parkour Dislikes: Archangel.


Hi.

**So you know what you're getting into:**

So this is another AU, but way shorter in length (this is certain), and _no Reapers_. The Shepard here isn't one you might be familiar with but she's tons of fun and I am in love with her. Also, you may count this fic as a pre-romance fic. The romance is between FemShep and Garrus. The _events of this fic happens before the events of ME1_, where Garrus is 25 years old (so, a nine year age gap, give or take a few months). Again, no romance happens- for now, anyway.

**Warnings:** Swearing, lots of swearing. Mentions of Garrus/others. Updates will be 5-7 days (depending on feedback, tee hee).

**Summary**: Emelia Shepard, A.K.A. Em, Millie, Mils. Sixteen years old. Omega orphan. Single. Occupation: Courier. Likes: Parkour Dislikes: Archangel.

_Many thanks to Elantil, who has been very supportive and encouraging in all my life and writing endevours. She is the beta of all my fics but any typos are my doing._

**When it Rains in Omega**

**Part 1**

Being on the wrong end of the scope of a deadly sniper was never a nice experience. Emelia Shepard knew that as she ducked under cover and instead of her head, Archangel's bullet hit the crate.

He was proving to be a tenacious little fucker, chasing her around Omega for a little more over ten minutes. By now she was sure he had overextended himself and had separated himself from the rest of his squad.

Shepard smiled. The turian may have amazing aim but he was hot-headed.

Leaning behind the crate Archangel just hit, she took a deep breath before dodge-rolling to the next cover, sprinting towards the alleyway and into a busy market. Putting up her hood, she walked as one with the masses. Behind her, she heard hurried and heavy footsteps—she never looked back as he scanned the crowd for her.

This was the fifth time Archangel had intercepted her. Frankly, it was getting old. It made her headaches worse.

"This is bullying the weak I tell you," She complained. In front of her, Morinth raised an eyebrow but her eyes were more or less rather bored when Shepard's silver-blue ones tried to meet hers. "What do I have against a whole crew, hm?"

The asari rolled the wine in her glass. "You didn't complain so much when Blue Suns was after your tail a few months ago."

"Oh, they're pathetic. Archangel? Scary. Twelve people that think they're on the side of justice? Scarier. Besides—I'm just a courier. They should be bothering Eclipse or Blood Pack."

Morinth took a sip from her Thessian Plum Wine, a look of incredulity on her face. Shepard huffed, crossing her arms defensively. Theirs was a strange friendship—one which probably would have never occurred if Shepard wasn't a courier, using one of the many shortcuts to breeze through Omega's streets. In an opportune moment, she had been witness to one of the Ardat-Yakshi's murders. It wasn't anything new in a hell like Omega, but their eyes had locked and instead of trying to kill each other (or in Shepard's case, instead of running very fast in one direction and not looking back) Morinth had kept her as a "friend."

"I would have agreed with you if I didn't know you were an information courier and that if any one gang got ahold of you, they would have a much easier time existing."

"Why do I feel like you're the one who's been giving out my location?"

The asari tittered. She actually freaking tittered. "Oh, Millie, you're just the cutest thing— if you weren't just sixteen years old—I would have sexed you and eaten you alive."

Shepard held back a shudder. She pulled up her hood to cover her pixie cut brown hair and leave most of her in shadow. "Fuck, Morinth, I know age never stopped you before."

"You're right. But I would be terribly lonely, there are—stronger, more sensual but less entertaining people around Omega. You shouldn't be worried at all." She tipped the last of the wine before licking her lips. "As for your location—I haven't spoken to anyone about you."

"Please either kill them or throw them off if they ask you, Morinth. Dealing with Archangel is enough of a headache."

"Of course, child."

"And—" Shepard shifted her eyes around the apartment.

"And?"

"Have you heard from Feron?"

The asari went silent. She turned to look at the window with its curtains drawn. "I can't say I have, child. I'm sorry."

"It happens." Shepard shrugged. Standing up before Morinth could console her with her usual platitudes, she secured her body bag and gave the asari a mock salute before walking out of the posh apartment. Archangel had been ruining her life for long enough, it was time to rest up and start a better day tomorrow.

* * *

Last voicemail from the boss:

"_Listen, kid. I'm going to be gone for a long while. I know you'll be fine—you know Omega almost as well as Aria does. But—fuck, I don't have the time to explain. Look, just stay safe, all right? Finish the last few runs and stay low."_

"_In case you get into trouble—well, you know the locals. I can call a few favors here and there from people I know. So don't give them too much trouble."_

"_I'll see you, kid. Don't miss me too much."_

* * *

As an information courier, life consisted of good days and better days.

Good days meant barely escaping the clutches of her enemies. Basically, that meant any merc gang or gang member who saw her as easy pickings because she was a frail human girl—and her size was small even for most sixteen year olds. They would try to either capture and torture her or kill her. Good days meant that her ability to get away saved her. It was a good day because krogans could barely vault their way up walls. And vorchas were too dumb to swing from one railing to another. It meant that she had every right to be confident about her earned abilities.

Better days were when she was completely uninterrupted. Aria may be queen but Omega was Shepard's playground. There wasn't a wall she couldn't climb, a building she couldn't leap from, ledges she couldn't swing to. And it was imperative that she get from point A to point B—her clients trusted her to get the job done.

Then Archangel showed up and suddenly there was a new category to her days: Fuck, God must hate me days. To make matters worse, she'd been getting these terrible headaches and no amount of prescribed meds were working. Frankly, she'd given up and planned to live with them.

Why was she getting all this hate all of a sudden? She's never actually interfered with his purge of Omega. All she'd ever done was twirl around his little witch hunt. Then again, maybe he knew she wasn't just any information courier. Maybe he knew she was one of Feron's runners and that she was disseminating information to other Shadow Broker agents. Sometimes, her job took her to even the merc bosses themselves (rare as that was—she wouldn't poke one with a ten meter pole if she could help it).

There were things that weren't safe on the extranet until absolutely necessary. Feron knew that and that's why he took her in after witnessing her talents himself. Basically, she's made a haven for herself in a hell like Omega thanks to Feron. A hell lot of kids her age would never be able to dream up the life she was living.

But now, Feron was missing. She hadn't heard from him in five months, the longest he'd been silent. Now, Shepard was getting worried. To make things worse, Archangel interfered at every opportunity. She didn't have any more runs to make and with Feron's instructions to keep her head down—she wasn't supposed to look for work but what the hell was she supposed to do about credits?

In the market district on the way home, a message blipped into her omni-tool. That had her cursing all the way to Afterlife. She was looking forward to just collapsing on her bed and not bothering to wake up for a few days.

She never liked the club. Slipping past the bouncers, she put the hood of her jacket up and stuffed her hands into her pockets, walking past drunken men and women of all races, ignoring the swiveling gyrating bodies of asari and the thumping of the bass. She made her way up the stairs and into the second floor, a more tame section of the club with steadier red lights and a crowd more genteel than the bumpers and grinders on the first floor. Well, it was as classy as the boot of a high class escort compared to the heel of a red light district hooker, anyway.

She made her way to Aria's floor, hands deep in her hoodie's pockets before she climbed the last set of staircases. Aria, as usual, took up more space than she could possibly need with her arms on the backrest her couch. Her impassive expression brought about another wave of unwanted nausea.

"What?" Shepard lifted her chin a little—fighting the dizziness.

"Your apartment is on fire."

"Oh, haha." Shepard rolled her eyes. "You just called me because I hate coming here."

"There's that. But," She called one of her lackeys over. He scrambled, bringing over one of the old screens and patching it to one of the surveillance cameras. True enough, the screen showed Shepard's apartment complex in flames. People gathered around the barricade as Aria's lackeys tried to put out the fire. Ambulances could be heard in the distance and a few people she recognized ran out of the entrance covered in soot. "For once, kid, I've done you a small favor."

"What would have been a real favor is just saying that through the comm so I could salvage some of my shit!" She cussed, grabbing the edges of the screen and shaking it. "Fuck! My life's savings!"

"Pity."

"Please, save me the false sympathy."

"You're right. It's not my style." Aria leaned back against her couch. "If you sold your services to me, Shepard, you might make more than enough for something in the upper districts by the end of the month."

"I saved a bag of potato chips in there! A-grade and worth a week of runs!" Shepard shook the screen again. Then, she shook the batarian holding the screen, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Tell me the black market restocked on the Cheez Menace—don't look at me like you don't buy your contraband cravings from there too, batarian! I've seen you skulking around!"

Aria turned away. "I see you've got your priorities straight."

"I was saving them for a special occasion." She plopped herself down on the couch, leaning an elbow against her thigh and cradling her head in her hands.

"And where are you going to live now?"

"Pssh. Please. Unlike you, I have friends."

Aria's eyes narrowed. "Your life expectancy is slimming, Shepard. I suggest you remedy your cheekiness."

Shepard huffed, half-smiling. "Why? It's the only reason you've kept me alive. Exhibit A, the fact that you called me here and sent your grunts to put out the fire at my apartment."

"Don't be disgusting." Aria leaned back, looking up at the ceiling of her club. "I owed your drell employer this small favor. He also told me to get you some place to stay."

"What? He could have called me himself." Shepard opened her omni-tool interface, searching her mail for messages from Feron. She frowned at the empty inbox. "Tell him I got myself covered."

"You are not staying with the Ardat-Yakshi."

Shepard's smile turned into a frown. "But her couch is exotic Terril fur. Woah—I'm kidding, mom. I don't want to die."

"You're also not staying with the doctor. Too many enemies."

"But I like his songs!" Shepard crossed her arms and leaned back against the couch. "And I don't want to live with you."

"Why the hell not?"

"Really? You're really asking me that?"

Aria glared. Shepard would have said that maybe she was a little hurt but that wasn't possible. "Fine. Do what you want. I've put some money into an account—"

She put her hand up. "No thanks, mom. I'll be fine. Last thing you need is your men thinking you've gone soft."

Aria took a sip of her drink. "I warn you: this is the only help I'll be extending to you."

"I get it." Shepard stood, hands sinking into her pockets. She left without another look or wave goodbye. She was sure the queen herself wouldn't rise from her throne to take a peek at her, not at the risk of seeming weak.

On her way out, hood up and hands in her hoodie pockets, she bumped into a turian in blue civvies—unusual, if not almost cocky (something Aria had said when she eyed Shepard's own attire). He grunted an "Excuse me" and she put her hand up in apology, not saying a word.

"Hey, you should apologize, you little pyjak."

Shepard paused and turned back at the dual-toned but female voice. She hadn't realized he had a companion. Her silver and grey armor matched the white colony markings on her face. She stared down at Shepard like she was varren shit, her gold eyes gleaming. She put one hand on her tiny waist, one foot tapping, waiting.

Shepard tilted her head. It's not like she was asking for trouble. But the guy beside her didn't care, and if there was anyone who should apologize it should be him because damn, it's not like she had a shred of armor on.

"Let it go, Titania."

"Hell no, Vakarian. This little girl owes you an—"

"Leave it." He motioned with his head at someone, somewhere above and behind him. Shepard stole a brief glance at the general direction.

So, mom was keeping an eye on her after all. Shepard's concern about her looking weak was unfounded, in fact, she looked more powerful than ever with her arms crossed. Her eyes—though expressionless—were directed at her. There was no mistaking it— she'd send her hounds on these two if anything escalated.

"Kids these days—they know a few people in high places and they think they're the shit." The female turian eyed her one more time before stomping ahead.

The guy nodded at her. Their silver-blue eyes locked on to each other, unobstructed. "Try to be more careful, kid." His tone was far more understanding—apologetic even. He chuckled. "Sorry if my companion was huffy. Take care of yourself."

Shepard shrugged. That seemed to be enough for him because he nodded and followed after the other turian. Shepard looked up again at Aria, same expression and stance firmly in place.

Shepard shook her head, before she reached into her pack and brought out an encrypted datapad and handed it to the krogan bouncer. "Hand it to the queen. Tell her Shepard sends her regards."

Without any further disturbances, she set off in a run.

* * *

Continue?


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